


Stop

by justanotherbusyfangirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternative Universe - Kingdom, M/M, Prince Sam Winchester, Prisoner Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-07 17:47:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16858540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanotherbusyfangirl/pseuds/justanotherbusyfangirl
Summary: Castiel was desperate for just one piece of bread.





	1. Stop, Thief!

The shackles on Castiel’s wrists bit into the skin.  The guard, whose head was covered in a cloth to keep his identity secret, pulled roughly on the chains, making Castiel stumble.  The stones on the floor were cold, the dampness of the dungeon inescapable.

All Castiel had been trying to do was find food.  He was starving ever since his father had passed away, Castiel unable to find a job.  His mother had just taken ill and Castiel went to the streets, begging for anything anyone could spare for him.  After days of nothing but a few pieces of dried fruit, Castiel had been desperate.

It just so happened that a palace guard had been passing the baker’s cart the moment Castiel tried to slip some bread under his cloak.  When the baker had yelled, “Stop, thief!” it was all over for Castiel.

That was nearly three days ago and Castiel was sure his mother was dead by now.  With no food and no son to care for her, he could only pray that a neighbor had taken pity.  Castiel hadn’t seen the sun since then, as he was stashed away in the dungeons of the castle.  It took three days for the royal family to get to his case, which was where he was heading now.

It was time for his sentencing.

Castiel hoped, as he climbed the steep steps behind the guard, that the royal family would take pity on him.  He hoped that he could beg for his life, beg for his mother’s life.  Naomi had once been a fine seamstress, even once being in a group of hired women to make a tapestry for the royal family.  If he could just explain to them his hardship…

Castiel fell to his knees as he reached the top of the stairs, blinded by the light of the sun.  The guard didn’t stop walking, however, so Castiel was dragged by his knees for a few feet before he could gather himself to continue walking.  He looked down to see trails of blood seeping through his ripped trousers.

This was not the way he wanted to present himself in front of the royal family.  His face was surely dirty, his hair a mess as always.  And now his clothes were stained with blood and grime of the dungeon.

The guard led him across a courtyard, one that was filled with flowers more beautiful than Castiel had ever seen.  He was so distracted by the flowers that he missed the young man in purple robes who was watching him from across the courtyard.  The guard yanked on Castiel’s chains again, causing him to stumble forward and through a door.

Here Castiel found himself in a long line of prisoners.  The guard chained Castiel’s shackles to the back of the prisoner in front of him before stepping away, finding his post against the wall a few steps away.

And then Castiel waited.

Every few minutes the row of prisoners shuffled forward, a verdict presumably found for the man or woman at the front of the line.  Sometimes there were screams of sorrow or pain, other times there were cries – joyful or mournful, Castiel couldn’t always tell.  He stayed silent while waiting, even though some men and women in front and behind him let themselves whisper to one another.  

After an hour had passed, Castiel rounded a corner to see a large door ahead, the row of prisoners leading inside.  He watched now as the prisoners were unchained from the front of the line, led into the great hall, and interviewed by the king.

The words spoken were rarely loud enough to hear from outside the hall, but Castiel watched the facial expressions of the king and his queen, the only people Castiel could see from his vantage point.  Sometimes the king’s face was hard, but others it was kind.  

Castiel hoped he would see the kind face of the king instead of a judging one.

When the person in front of Castiel was taken inside, Castiel’s stomach tied itself into knots.  The moment was nearly there when his fate would be decided.  He was much too young to die, he thought, and he hoped the king would agree.

The person in front of him was finished and the guards came for Castiel.  He did the best he could with his hands shackled together to rub the dirt from his face and lay his hair flat, but he knew it would be no use.  Castiel approached the throne, eyes unable to focus on anything as a man to his right read the charges.

“Well, do you have anything to say for yourself?” the king asked, his voice powerful and threatening.

All eyes were on Castiel as his eyes brimmed over with tears.  “My mother…my mother is sick, my lord, I’m so sorry…” Castiel stuttered, beginning to cry.  He felt so ashamed, crying like a terrified child in front of the king, but he quickly realized that was exactly what he was.  A terrified child.

He looked to his feet instead of up at the king then, sniffing away his tears.  The king took a breath to give the sentence, making the world around Castiel freeze in time.


	2. Father, Stop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam is taken by the prisoner with bright blue eyes.

Sam was late, he knew it.  He had gotten distracted with his archery lesson in the far fields and had raced his horse as fast as he could, but he was still late.  He felt awful that he couldn’t brush her, throwing the reins at the stable boy instead of taking care of everything himself, but he knew his father would be angry.

The king had ordered Sam to be a part of the judgement of the court for today.

Sam rushed through the halls of the castle, wishing for what had to be the hundredth time in his life that he wasn’t the prince, didn’t live in the castle, didn’t have all the responsibilities of being royal.  His older brother Dean was the one who would be king, anyway…why couldn’t Sam just go live a normal life?

No, Sam would go through all the same training and duties as Dean, to become his brother’s advisor and successor if necessary.

Sam entered the main courtyard, slowing his walk as he approached the part of the castle where people would be.  He walked with purpose toward the great hall, eyes wandering as he walked amongst the flowers.

He stopped in his footsteps, though, when his eyes found a young man.  His hair was messy and unkempt, but his blue eyes shone fiercely as they looked at the flowers.  Sam recognized the look – interest and amazement at the beauty.  

Sam was sure the same look was on his own face, not put there by the flowers but by the handsome man.

Sam shook his head, realizing that his pause would only make him even later.  He rushed through the doors, finally finding his place next to his father and mother.

The king only glanced at Sam, saying with that one look that they would speak of his tardiness at a later time.  Sam sighed, folding his hands in his lap and watching his father begin the proceedings.

As Sam half-listened to the court, he thought back to the young man in the courtyard.  He had been a prisoner, Sam realized, but how could someone so handsome have evil in his heart?  There must be some mistake, Sam was sure of it.  

That realization made Sam pay more attention to what was happening, his eyes constantly glancing toward the door where the line of prisoners entered.  With each new case Sam held his breath, wondering when he’d see the beautiful blue eyes again.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, Sam saw him at the door.  The blue eyes were scared, trained on the king.  The guards led the man into the room and Sam nearly laughed as he watched the shackled hands try to make himself presentable.

In reality, the man’s hair only got messier.  Sam thought it made him more handsome.

Sam listened as the charges were read, realizing that this prisoner was here over a single loaf of bread.  His father would surely let him go, perhaps give him some food as well.

“Well, do you have anything to say for yourself?” the king asked.  Sam watched as tears of terror filled the man’s eyes.  All Sam wanted to do in that moment was step forward, gather the man in his arms, and take him away.

“My mother…my mother is sick, my lord, I’m so sorry…” the man said as tears began to fall.  Sam’s heart broke for him, and he looked to his father.  To Sam’s surprise, a hard line fell on the king’s brow.

“If your mother was sick, would you do anything for her?” the king asked.  The man stopped sniffling, nodding.

“Yes, my lord,” he answered, looking to his feet.

“Anything at all?” the king clarified.  “Would you steal food, medicine, set the market on fire?  Go to our enemy kingdom and share secrets if it meant her health?”

His voice raised with each word and the man began shaking his head no, trying to backtrack.  Sam’s heartbeat sped, unsure of why his father was doing this.  As the king’s voice raised further, the man’s crying increased.

Sam couldn’t take it anymore.

“Father, stop!” he yelled, standing up.  All eyes were now on Sam, including the beautiful, tear-stained blue ones that he had come to admire in such little time.

Sam stepped down from the throne and toward the prisoner, coming to stand by him.  “I will take responsibility for this prisoner.  He shall be useful if he can have the same dedication to his mother for the royal family.”

Sam motioned for the guard to unlatch the man’s shackles.  He rubbed his wrists, cowering in on himself slightly as Sam stepped closer.  “I’m done for today,” Sam said, beginning to lead the man out of the throne room.

“Samuel, are you sure?” his father asked after him.  Sam stopped, turning back.

“I’m sure,” he said with as much confidence as he could muster.  The king nodded, motioning for the guards to bring the next prisoner inside.

Sam wrapped his arm around the man’s shoulders, leading him straight to his quarters.  Without hesitation he ordered a hot bath to be made and began stripping the man of his dirty clothes.

A hand on Sam’s made him freeze.  “Why?” the blue-eyed man asked.

Sam straightened himself up, raising his hand to brush the hair out of the man’s eyes.  “There’s just…” Sam began.  He rested his hand on the man’s cheek.  “There’s something about you.”

Their eyes stayed locked until the servants came in with the bathwater, breaking the moment.  Sam didn’t mind, though.  He was sure he would have many moments to come with the blue-eyed man. 


End file.
